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... hotel room.
Yukima Azuma's eyes fluttered open, stirred not by an alarm but by the biological rhythm he'd developed over years of relentless self-discipline. His body moved instinctively to rise—only to pause as a warm, gentle weight tugged at his right arm.
He froze.
Reality came rushing back. The unfamiliar ceiling. The faint smell of perfume on the sheets. The sensation of soft hair brushing against his chest.
He turned his head slightly—and saw her.
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